


Hunt Me Down

by round_robin



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Sex, Come Marking, Come Shot, Double Penetration, Explicit Sexual Content, Facials, Hide and Seek, Hunters & Hunting, Kaer Morhen, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Scent Kink, Scenting, Size Kink, Witchersexual Jaskier | Dandelion, Wolf Pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:54:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24143938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: “Chase me.”Geralt looked up just in time to see Jaskier bolt out of their campsite and into the forest. He was cleaning his armor and just... dropped everything, taking off after the bard. And boy, was Jaskier fast, much faster than Geralt thought. He darted around, weaving through the trees, throwing kisses over his shoulder to make sure Geralt was still following.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert, Eskel/Lambert (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert, Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Comments: 124
Kudos: 1441





	Hunt Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> This is my 100th fic posted here. It's crazy and totally snuck up on me. I decided to do a fic that had a lot of my favorite tropes to celebrate: Wolf Pack, scenting, come shots, double penetration, Fuck Hotel Kaer Morhen, twenty-year-old Jaskier, and my absolute favorite: sexy hide and seek.
> 
> One of my favorite bands, Oomph!, has a song that translates too "Seek Me, Find Me," and I always imagine a sexy game of hide and seek going on. Problem is, I already have an old Sherlock hide and seek fic called "Seek Me, Find Me." I'm bummed I already used one of my better titles... Also, there was a comment on my fic "A Man Most Beloved," where a reader said the dp was great, but Jaskier could definitely take another cock in his mouth. And lo, I have delivered.
> 
> The size kink is only if you squint and mostly borne from my iron clad head canon that every Witcher is seriously packing.
> 
> Please enjoy, I can't believe I have 100 fics up here, thank you to everyone who reads my stuff, i appreciate all of you so much.

Two words. That's how it started, with two little words...

Actually, there was a lot more to it. A whole conversation, Geralt was sure of it, but those two words were the trigger, the catalyst for Geralt's new favorite pastime.

“Chase me.”

Geralt looked up just in time to see Jaskier bolt out of their campsite and into the forest. He was cleaning his armor and just... dropped everything, taking off after the bard. And boy, was Jaskier _fast_ , much faster than Geralt thought. He darted around, weaving through the trees, throwing kisses over his shoulder to make sure Geralt was still following.

Why the fuck were they doing this? Jaskier asked him about something, Geralt was cleaning his armor and had a vague memory of the past few minutes. “So...” Jaskier said, stepping towards Geralt but for some reason, remaining exactly outside of his reach. “We're alone, right? No more beasties or animals around?”

Geralt grunted. He was trying to remove a stubborn crusted patch from his pauldron. It started as blood, or maybe kikimore goo, he couldn't remember. “The swamp's a way off, but a kikimore would frighten everything away. Animals won't come back for a few days at least.”

“Right. And you don't hear any other riders? No one looking for a scenic walk through swamp adjacent forest?”

“Nope, only us.” The crusted spot started to give way and Geralt brushed harder, not hard enough to damage the leather, but a little extra elbow grease never hurt. “We're the only ones stupid enough to camp this close to a swamp.”

“Yes, that sounds like us. So, to sum up: we are alone, no one around for miles and miles?”

“No.”

“Right...” Jaskier swept in, lips pressing against Geralt's ear, and he whispered, “Chase me.”

In his confusion, Jaskier got a good head start, but Geralt was catching up now. The fancy dodging and weaving through trees only worked for so long, and he lost a step every time he looked back to see if Geralt was still following—of course he was still there. With Jaskier's heart pumping, spreading his fragrant smell all over the fucking forest, Geralt would follow him for days.

Jaskier was only a few feet ahead of him now, Geralt extended an arm and lunged—

He snagged Jaskier by the back of his shirt and they both tumbled to the ground. Geralt had the good sense to start them rolling to absorb some of the impact. Jaskier squirmed in his hands and when Geralt tried to check for injury (injuries that were Jaskier's own damn fault) beautiful peals of laughter met his ears instead of pained moans.

Spread across Jaskier, Geralt pushed up to his elbows and glared down at the bard. “What the fuck was that? Why did you make me chase you? And how are you so fucking fast?”

Jaskier panted under him, his face a lovely pink, skin thrumming. “Why did I make you chase me?” He thrust up, rubbing his very hard cock against Geralt's hip. He felt the heat of it, even through layers of fabric. “Why do you think?”

Geralt bit down on the groan building in his chest. Jaskier smelled _divine_. After wading around in the swamp for the kikimore, they had sweat, dirt and fuck knows what else all over them both, Geralt longed for a bath in the nearest body of clean water. But the new sweat clinging to Jaskier's skin now—he breathed in deep. “Oh, fuck.” Tinged with adrenaline, arousal and bits of forest, Jaskier smelled better than after a bath. He smelled wild and delicious, and Geralt wanted to take a bite.

He got up, dragging Jaskier with him and throwing the bard over his shoulder. “My prize,” he growled and jogged back to camp. Over his shoulder, Jaskier wriggled and panted, making sure Geralt felt his erection with every step he took.

“Now you're getting it,” Jaskier said. “You catch me, you get me. Sound good?”

“Yes."

Back at their camp, Roach examined them before returning to the nice patch of grass she was munching, turning away. Geralt threw Jaskier down onto their bedroll and pinned him there, running his hands over feverish skin. “How did you get so fast?” He pushed Jaskier's shirt up, stroking the sweaty skin of his stomach, ticking his ribs.

Jaskier arched into the touch, trying to draw attention to the not so subtle bulge in his breeches. “You're the one who likes to bring up how often I have to flee jealous lovers. I learned to be quick, or be dead, and chose the former. And walking after you every day, oh yes...” He hissed and arched again when Geralt rested the flat of his palm over Jaskier's cock, still hidden away under far too much fabric. “No one can say I'm not in shape.”

“Hmm, good point. But why was I chasing you? Surly you can get hard the normal way.” Slowly, Geralt opened Jaskier's breeches, taking his sweet time, watching that too expressive face flicker through so many emotions—passion, hunger, frustration, relief when he felt the brush of skin, back to passion—before starting on his own buttons, his cock already straining the fabric.

Jaskier shrugged, his eyes on Geralt's hands as he freed his cock. “I like it.” Blue eyes snapped up to his and Jaskier bit his lip. “Did you like it?”

Coating his fingers with their oil, Geralt took them both in hand. Jaskier tried to help, but Geralt pinned him to the ground with his free hand, making him simply accept pleasure instead of worrying about giving it. For how fussy and self involved he seemed, Jaskier was a very giving man, and an even more generous lover. Don't get him wrong, Geralt enjoyed every second of it, but sometimes he needed to convince Jaskier to sit back and be seen to.

Despite the improvement to Jaskier's smell, they were no where near clean enough for sex. Geralt jerked them both, the oil on his hand just barely enough, making each pull a little rough and more than perfect. Chasing Jaskier through the woods followed by a stiff hand job before dinner? Yes please.

Flicking his wrist, Geralt brushed his thumb over Jaskier's head with every stroke, and every time, Jaskier's chest jerked like it was on a string attached to his cock. The sweat in the air kicked up and Jaskier's balls tightened against Geralt's. Geralt came first, and the sight of his seed gushing across his fingers brought Jaskier over a second later.

They flopped into a sticky pile, Jaskier panting for a different reason now. Geralt nosed through his hair, taking one last deep inhale of that bright adrenaline smell. “Yes,” he whispered. “I liked that.”

That was the first time. There would be others, oh yes, Geralt would chase Jaskier whenever asked, but the first time they played like that was always the sweetest in his memory.

~

They couldn't always play in the woods. For one thing, the woods weren't safe, and for another, Jaskier might actually get lost. He never went far and Geralt always smelled him, but better safe than sorry. But the forest wasn't the only place for a good chase and they adapted when they had to.

They stopped in Brugge to get supplies and Jaskier wandered off. It happened, Geralt wasn't concerned. Maybe he saw something pretty in a shop window and wanted to lament that he couldn't afford it, or maybe he went back to the inn. The last contract took it out of Geralt and Jaskier had worried himself sick, monitoring Geralt's potion toxicity until he gathered ingredients for more White Honey, or meditated it off. He was better now, but still needed the ingredients to refresh his supply.

His coin purse much lighter, Geralt took his ingredients back to the inn. Jaskier wasn't in the dining room, playing or flirting to get more coin. _Must be asleep then_ , Geralt thought. They both needed some down time. Maybe if they found a good bath house...

Geralt opened the door to their room to find it empty. Jaskier's bags were still there, his lute sitting safely on the dresser, but no Jaskier in sight. Geralt checked around the room while extending his senses. In cities, he tried to block out the noise of the teaming masses, but with Jaskier gone (missing?) he let the world in, ears pricking to every sound in the tavern below and out on the street. One ear tuned to the world, Geralt examined Jaskier's things. He wouldn't leave without his lute, so he was definitely still around.

A scrap of paper torn from Jaskier's composition book sat tucked under the strings of the lute. Geralt carefully pulled it out and read. _Chase me_ , written in Jaskier's neat hand. The slowly building panic in his gut disappeared, heat filling in its place. Geralt adjusted himself and closed his eyes, settling into pursuit mode.

Jaskier liked being chased for any number of reasons—it got his blood pumping, made him horny, made him feel desired—and Geralt shared some of those reasons, but the hunt part of it got him off more than a little.

Hunting for sport—not for a contract, not for survival, but for pure thrill—was a rare pleasure Geralt hardly got to indulge. His mutations and training turned him into the perfect hunter, he saw the joy in it, as well as the need, but the Continent's need of his services left him very little time to enjoy that thrill. In winter, they hunted to provide dinner, and that got close to scratching the itch, but it didn't _quite_ satisfy. Chasing Jaskier through the woods, hearing his heart pounding, smelling his sweat and excitement... now that fucking satisfied.

Geralt brought the scrap of paper to his nose and sniffed, a little of Jaskier's oil clinging to the edges. “Oh, he's going to be in trouble when I find him.” Sliding a hand down to palm his cock through is breeches, Geralt gave himself one last moment to revel in the thought of Jaskier sliding through the streets of Brugge, dashing here and there, looking for a place to hide. Heart pounding, pupils wide, sweat pouring down his neck...

The paper crumpled in his hand and Geralt was off, running down the stairs and out the back door of the tavern. He slowed a little on the street, still moving quickly, dodging clumsy people who never looked where they were going. He stopped at the corner of the building and sniffed, searching for Jaskier's trail, because it wasn't fun if Jaskier didn't leave a trail for him to follow.

A hint of lavender caught his nose and he was off again, turning down an alley and towards another street. An apothecary on the corner overwhelmed Geralt's nose for a second and he lost the trail, he doubled back to pick it up again, only this time, the lavender headed the other way, past the inn. Geralt turned and took note of the wind. It hadn't shifted. Did that mean Jaskier was still outside somewhere? Creating false trails to confuse him? Scanning the crowd, Geralt didn't recognize anyone's face or gait and he went back to the scent trail.

There was a stable around the other side of the inn, Roach was settled there for the night. The hint of lavender on the air might be from earlier... Geralt ducked inside anyway and the smell intensified. His cock twitched and he followed the scent.

 _There_. In the back stall across from Roach's, a conveniently placed tarp over a stack of dry hay bales. Geralt didn't remember seeing that tarp earlier. He crouched down, lower that the top of the stall doors, and made his feet go silent as he crept across the dirt floor. He came even with the door and tensed, ready to jump—

“Got ya!”

Geralt turned just in time to get an arm full of Jaskier. The surprise staggered him and sent them both to the floor, Jaskier sprawled across his chest, mad grin on his face. “I won,” he said, then pressed kisses up and down Geralt's neck, teeth nipping softly, a promise for more later.

“Yes. You did.” Geralt grabbed Jaskier's hips and lined them up with his, the long line of his cock obvious.

A small growl in his ear told Geralt everything he needed to know. “Fuck, I love how this gets your blood boiling. Take me.”

“In here?” While Geralt wasn't opposed, it was almost dark, a few last minute travelers were sure to come by to put their horses up for the night, not to mention the stable hand on his normal rounds... the risk of getting caught was too great.

“Yes,” Jaskier breathed against his lips, tongue licking into Geralt's mouth. “Remember the last time you caught me? You held me against a tree, gripping my thighs so hard I had finger bruises for days? I want that again. Stable wall. _Now_.”

A hungry growl escaped Geralt's lips and he captured Jaskier's, teeth scraping the soft skin just a hair too hard before easing off. He sat up, lifting them both and stumbling into the empty stall.

As requested, he fucked Jaskier against the wall, breeches danging around one ankle, legs locked around Geralt's hips as he chanted, “Yes, yes, yes!” in time with Geralt's thrusts.

They barely finished before someone walked in. Jaskier turned away to button his breeches and Geralt glared at the stable boy, some of Jaskier's come still clinging to his fingers. The boy had the good sense to shrink a bit under the glare.

“Is-is everything alright?” His voice cracked.

“Fine.” Geralt walked out of the empty stall and over to Roach, Jaskier following. “I came to check on my mount. There are those who'd mistreat a Witcher's horse for the crime of being a Witcher's horse. I can never be too careful.”

The boy shook his head. “Oh no, your Witcher, I'd never hurt an animal, not me.”

“Good. If she's well taken care of, there's a tip in it for you tomorrow morning.”

The boy's face lit up. “Yes, sir, you don't have to worry, she'll be well taken care of.”

Geralt grunted and swept passed the boy, Jaskier still following. They were almost out, almost in the clear when the boy called them back. “You're the bard, right, sir?” he asked Jaskier. “They've been asking after you in the tavern, folks want a song.”

Sweat stuck to his crotch and Geralt's come slid out of his ass, and Jaskier tried not to shift too much. “Oh, that's so nice. But you see, I'm a bit tired now. Perhaps—”

“He'd love to play,” Geralt said. He smirked at Jaskier, eyes sharp and bright. “After all, it's still early, I'm sure you'll do well tonight.”

Jaskier grit his teeth and followed Geralt out. Under his breath, he mumbled, “Are you seriously going to make me play?”

“You don't _have_ to play. But if I don't have enough to tip for that boy in the morning...”

Threat dangling in the air, Jaskier gave in. “Fine. At least let me change my small clothes. You are too virile for your own good. I'll be leaking for an hour.”

Watching Jaskier dance around and smelling the come stuck to his skin gave Geralt a wicked thrill. Every time he passed Geralt's table, Jaskier turned his head away, facing his backside to the Witcher, reminding him. Geralt enjoyed the games they played with each other, there wasn't really a loser, only two winners.

After Jaskier earned enough coin for a bath and a tip for the stable boy in the morning, Geralt joined him upstairs and watched him soak in the tub. “You're such a bastard,” Jaskier sighed.

“You made me fuck you in a _stable_ ,” Geralt answered back. “I've spent my life covered in all manner of blood and guts, and even I have difficulty getting hard surrounded by horse shit.”

“The smell wasn't that bad, it was atmospheric.” Jaskier sank back in the tub, well, as far back as the (let's be honest) wash basin, allowed. “I bet I smell nice now...”

A slow smile curled across Geralt's lips. “Yes. You do.”

An hour later, Jaskier climbed back into the now chilly water and washed more come from his skin. It was very much worth it.

~

While Geralt enjoyed Jaskier's game, chasing him in a town was far from practical. When the cold started to set in, the woods were out too. “I can't risk actually losing you and you getting hypothermia, or something equally stupid,” Geralt said. “Or eaten by a bear.” He couldn't put anything past Jaskier's occasionally good but mostly shit luck.

“Fine.” Jaskier pouted but scooted closer to Geralt, the night air starting to bite at him. “I love what it does to you. All that running, makes your cock so hot inside me.” A pleased little shiver passed through Jaskier's shoulders and Geralt shifted, adjusting a little. “So I have to wait until next spring?”

“I don't know, maybe we can—” _Kaer Morhen_. Geralt cut himself off, mouth half open. “I think... I think I have an idea.”

True winter was still a few weeks off, Geralt meant to break the news of his winter plans to Jaskier in the next few days... but suddenly, he didn't see why they had to separate. The others brought guests for winter from time to time, and yes, Geralt never had, but it wasn't completely out of the question. He searched his mind for a reason not to bring Jaskier for the winter and couldn't find one.

“We can what?” Jaskier nudged his arm. “Maybe we can what?”

Geralt shook his head and looked at Jaskier, those beautiful blue eyes shining back at him. “Would you like to winter with me?”

A bright blush stained his face and Jaskier sat up straight, barely able to contain the excitement rushing through him. “Oh my—Geralt. I never expected... I mean, I've known you for over a year and I didn't want to push—that sounds amazing! Yes, I'd love to winter with you.”

Had it really been more than a year? It seemed like only yesterday Geralt wanted to rid himself of the annoying bard stuck to his shoe, but that was before said bard displayed the enthusiasm of his youth and climbed into Geralt's lap one night and begged to be fucked... Geralt lost his train of thought.

Jaskier was still talking. “And last year, I didn't want to come off as a love struck school boy, but when you went off to winter with the other Witchers, I really missed you. I'm happy to spend the season with you this year.”

“Good,” Geralt said.

A whole castle to chase Jaskier through, a castle where he knew the halls like the back of his hand, every short cut path, every secret door... On his home field, Geralt would never lose their game again.

~

In a very long life filled with good ideas, bad ideas, and stupid ideas, bringing Jaskier to Kaer Morhen might be the most fucking brilliant idea Geralt ever had. Introductions went fine—Eskel liked Jaskier's poetry, Vesemir wanted him to play after dinner, Lambert grumbled about over perfumed bards while sharing a bottle of good wine with him, so on, and so on—Geralt was never worried about that, his brothers were calmer in winter and all guests had something to bring to their months locked together.

As soon as Jaskier walked into Kaer Morhen, his eyes lit up. _That_ look was what Geralt waited for, the thing that helped him put up with Jaskier's belly aching on the way up. Kaer Morhen was perfect for their chase, almost too perfect in a way. All those long halls and twisting stairways, cavernous halls filled with broken furniture and long tapestries to hide behind. Out of the corner of his eye, Geralt saw Jaskier smooth a hand down the front of his breeches. Yes, he saw it too, the potential for a castle wide game.

But Kaer Morhen was a castle, and castles needed a lot of fucking work. Last minute repairs and daily chores, Jaskier understood and pulled his weight. It took a fortnight before they were truly settled enough, in the meantime, Geralt and Jaskier satisfied themselves running along the corridor in front of Geralt's room, whetting their appetites for the day they had run of the whole castle.

Geralt sat in the library, looking through some dusty books for a very specific dusty book on vampires. He wasn't planning to fuck Jaskier _all_ winter long (not constantly, at least) he might as well try to cram some knowledge in that beautiful head. After all, he couldn't be with Jaskier every second and the bard managed to find more trouble than the average human. Geralt couldn't find the book and frowned to himself. Maybe it got misshelved...

He turned to check another shelf and found Jaskier standing at the library doors, one hand trailing down the wood of the jamb, the other stroking the front of his breeches. The scent of lust filled the room and a feral smile crossed Geralt's face. He slid his tongue across his teeth and Jaskier lifted his chin, exposing his neck. They held for a beat, locked in the charged stillness.

“Catch me,” Jaskier whispered.

He was off, light footfalls disappearing down the corridor. Geralt stood very still, his skin vibrating a little as he counted to fifty. Because of Kaer Morhen's size and twisting halls, their usual chase wasn't as fun. Jaskier was fast, but in these halls, Geralt was unbeatable. So the game became hide and seek—or rather, seek and _catch_ —similar and just as satisfying.

Geralt finished the count and broke into a run, tearing down the hall after Jaskier's scent—his perfume, sweat and arousal all mixed together to leave a trail a mile wide. He inhaled deeply and his cock filled out, slowing him a little. It didn't matter. Jaskier hardly ever got one over on him, and no one truly lost this game... still, Geralt was going to win, in this place, his victory was assured.

Jaskier made it up to the second floor before doubling back. He took off his doublet as he ran and threw it down an empty hall before turning another way—leaving a false trail wouldn't stop Geralt, but it might buy another minute. Jaskier's legs were starting to burn, his heart pounding, but he kept going, ducking here and there, spreading his trail so wide, Geralt had no choice but to check every alcove, giving Jaskier time to rest and run again. The longer he led Geralt in the chase, the sweeter the capture.

He couldn't leap down to another floor like Geralt, so Jaskier's options were limited to running and small jumps, but he was fast, especially with the small head start they agreed upon. He heard heavy feet behind him—Geralt could walk silently if he wanted, but that wasn't the point, the threat of pursuit was another part of the game—and Jaskier looked over his shoulder. A flash of white hair rounded a corner and vanished. Using his superior knowledge to try and cut Jaskier off? Well, two could play at that game...

Jaskier slid to a stop and switched direction, jumping down the staircase he climbed a few moments ago, heading towards the dining hall.

~

Box of Gwent cards tucked under his arm, Lambert headed towards the dining hall. Like an idiot, Eskel asked to play tonight and Lambert decided to take this opportunity to try out a new deck. Eskel didn't have a chance, yet he kept trying, no reason Lambert couldn't use the easy opponent to test some new strategies too.

A blue blur streaked passed him and Lambert stopped cold. He drew in a quick breath, tasting excitement, sweat, lust, and adrenaline blooming through the air. Instantly hard, Lambert groaned. His body reacted before his mind spared a thought to why the fuck Jaskier was running through the castle and he took off in hot pursuit, hunting instincts taking over.

The bard ran into the dining hall, Lambert hot on his heels... but he didn't seem to notice Lambert following close behind. Not until Lambert crashed into him, pinning Jaskier to the wall with a grunt, shoving his cock against that plush backside.

“Ack!” Jaskier squealed. “Fuck, Lambert, what—”

Lambert growled and shoved Jaskier into the wall again, silencing him. He dragged his teeth across Jaskier's neck, tasting the sweat perfumed with lust and confusion—no fear though. He gave an experimental roll of his hips and Jaskier moaned softly. He slid his nose through sweaty hair, drinking in the lovely smells absolutely covering the human, his cock straining in his breeches.

He let out a shuddering breath. “F-fuck, you smell...”

“Lambert,” Jaskier whined, thrusting his hips back.

“Hey!” Geralt ran into the dining hall and skidded to a stop. Jaskier pressed into the wall, Lambert thrusting against him, teeth bared... “What the fuck?”

Hot shame flooded Lambert. “Geralt, sorry, I—” He tried to pull away from Jaskier, release his hold on the bard's neck, stop pumping his hips against that beautiful ass... But Lambert's body did not do as it was told, he was too ensnared by his hunter instinct, that deep voice whispering to him _you caught your prey, don't let the White Wolf take him from you_... “I saw him running and I—” The deep growl in his mind won out and Lambert buried his face in Jaskier's neck, sucking a bruise into the skin. “I had to catch him...”

Geralt stepped closer and Lambert held tighter. He didn't want to... but actually, he did. He wanted to crush Jaskier to him, bend him over the table and mark him with his scent. _You won_ , the hunter whispered, the same hunter that drove Geralt, _you get to keep him_.

Lambert didn't twitch when Geralt moved in right next to him, one of those unfairly large arms wrapping around Lambert's waist. Intense eyes flicked between him and Jaskier. “Do you want him too?” Geralt whispered.

Pinned as he was, Jaskier managed to nod. “He did win, after all. Those are the rules.”

Sensing no threat from Geralt, Lambert calmed his instincts enough to let him stroke Jaskier's cheek, considering for a moment... His gaze traveled back to Lambert and the arm around his waist squeezed. “Those are the rules. You catch him, you get him.”

“You're joking.” Lambert's jaw dropped open. “You'd really—” Jaskier thrust back against him again and Lambert groaned. “Fuck, you're so distracting. You really want—”

“Ugh!” Jaskier grunted. The game was over and he wasn't on his back yet, this never happened. Someone needed to fuck him very soon. “Shut me in a castle full of Witchers for a winter and think I'm going to stick to just one? I was going to wait until you were all drunk to suggest it. Thought that might be the better way to approach it.” In his shock, Lambert let up a little and Jaskier made the most of his new wiggle room, pushing back, grinding along the hard cock he definitely felt, making Lambert grunt and lean in closer. “Geralt's told me stories, and I wouldn't mind...”

Memories of past winters, when they were all happy, horny and drunk, pressing against each other, Lambert climbing into Geralt's lap and stroking them both off while Eskel tried to crawl inside Geralt's mouth. Or those too cold nights where the wind howled through the cracks in the old walls, and Geralt showed up at Lambert's door to pull him into bed with him and Eskel, “Don't be an idiot, it's warmer with us...” All the times they touched and got close because it was just better with people who understood, better with the other wolves. Lambert thought that possibility was gone this winter, what with Geralt's guest.

Geralt held Lambert's gaze... and his resolve crumbled. “Yes, fuck yes, let's go.”

Geralt swept in, hand cupping Lambert's jaw. “My room. I'll be up in a minute... gotta go get Eskel.” He nodded to Jaskier, rubbing against Lambert. “Throw him over your shoulder. It's part of the game.”

Lambert sure as shit didn't need to be told twice. Heaving Jaskier over his shoulder, he jogged up the stairs to Geralt's room, his box of cards set safely on a dining hall table for later. Surprisingly strong hands gripped his tunic, kneading the firm muscles underneath. “Mmm, I can't wait.”

Lambert slapped the ass over his shoulder, earning a moan from Jaskier, more lust rolling off him. “Damn tease. How often do you let him chase you?”

“Not as much as I'd like. I can't wait to have all of you chasing me...”

“Fuck.” Heat flared in Lambert's gut at the thought, all three of them, tearing through the castle, hunting the most tempting game he'd ever laid eyes on. “Fuck.”

“That's the idea.”

Lambert pushed open Geralt's door and threw Jaskier down onto the bed. He always teased Geralt about the over-large bed, “It's mostly just you and Eskel, or are you expecting _more_ company?” The three of them fit with room to spare, and now Lambert saw that extra space was just waiting to be filled by Jaskier.

Rolling onto his back, Jaskier licked his lips and blue eyes tracked Lambert as he paced the room. “Not going to claim your prize? Undressing me is part of it.”

Oh, did Lambert want to rip the shirt and breeches right off that supple body... “I'm waiting for the others. I don't know what the rules are yet.”

Jaskier nodded. “That's fair. Like I said, I was waiting to spring this on you all. I didn't think Geralt would object, not with what he's told me.”

“White Wolf's a blabber mouth?” Lambert huffed. “Could've guessed.”

“Not especially.” Jaskier flipped to the other end of the bed, getting closer to Lambert, and rolled onto his stomach, kicking his legs in a far too coquettish manner. Fuck, how did that still work though? “But ask him to tell you about Kaer Morhen with your mouth around his cock and two fingers in his ass, you bet he's going to wax poetic about how much he loves fucking you and Eskel all winter.”

Lambert's mouth went dry at the thought of Geralt splayed out, legs wide. He'd seen it plenty, when Eskel shoved him on the bed and they both forgot Lambert was there, already sated and melting into a pool at the other end of the bed. “Where the fuck are they?” he grunted. “They better get here soon.”

Jaskier crawled up onto his hands and knees, showing Lambert what might be in store for him. _Fucking tease_. “Sure you don't want to get a head start? Come join me.” Jaskier shifted over, hand rubbing the expanse of empty bed.

“Don't let him drag you in,” Geralt said. He and Eskel walked through the door, closing it behind them.

As soon as he saw Jaskier stretched across the bed, smelling like an entire brothel, Eskel arched one eyebrow at Geralt. “What's the game?”

“Hide and seek. He lost.” Geralt folded himself into the arm chair placed conveniently next to the bed and patted his lap for Eskel to sit. “Lambert won, he gets to claim the prize first.” Eskel folded himself around Geralt and they settled in to watch the youngest among them claim the spoils of victory.

“Fucking finally.” Lambert made the mistake of stepping towards the bed, giving Jaskier an opportunity to grab on and pull him close. He put up a token protest before falling into the bed, completely covering Jaskier.

Teeth latched onto his neck again and Jaskier moaned. Lambert growled and bit harder, wordlessly commanding his _prize_ to stay still. He yanked at ties and buttons until naked skin stretched under him, a hard cock against his hip. Standing quickly to ditch his own clothes, Lambert blanketed himself over Jaskier, kissing that too beautiful mouth for the first time.

Jaskier wrapped his legs around Lambert's hips, licking into his mouth and biting the way he knew Geralt liked. Lambert smirked into the kiss and pushed his tongue deep, one hand sliding down to cup Jaskier's ass. He saw the oil on the table next to the bed, and they'd get there... but Lambert was going to take his time getting to know the body under him. The sooner he found how to make Jaskier moan, the better this winter would be.

Over in the chair, Eskel shifted, feeling the line of Geralt's cock against his flank. “You said you had something to show me and you did not disappoint. What are the rules?”

Geralt ran his nose up the back of Eskel's shoulder. He knew the rules of their game, those were obvious, but they hadn't really talked over the rest. They sort of got caught up in the moment, so he explained what he knew: “Jaskier likes it when I chase him. If I catch him, I get to fuck him. If he surprises me before I find him, I get to fuck him, but he chooses where. And,” he bit lightly at Eskel's neck, a promise for more to come, “he wants you and Lambert to chase him too. Lambert won today, as you can see.”

“I do see.”

Eskel watched Lambert lick a stripe from Jaskier's right nipple, up the side of his neck, biting his ear, making the bard pant and twist on the bed. They hadn't even started fucking yet, it was just Lambert kissing Jaskier all over, licking the sweat off his skin, making the most of his win. Eskel's cock twitched impatiently inside his breeches.

“And after Lambert takes his winnings?” Eskel asked.

Geralt smirked. “We take our consolation prize.”

“Yes!” Jaskier arched off the bed and shouted, no one sure if he was responding to Eskel, or to Lambert's tongue wrapped around his cock.

Jaskier let his knees fall open as far as possible, giving Lambert more than enough room. Wide shoulders spread him father still and Jaskier started quivering. A devious tongue started on his cock, licking up the shaft, wide, flat and soft, then the pointed tip swirled around his head, flicking across the slit. Jaskier jerked and moaned with each movement, heat building at the base of his spine.

Then Lambert traveled lower, tongue swiping along the side of his sac. A few more quick licks and he crawled back up the bed, taking the oil from the bedside table and slicking his fingers. “Start with two,” Geralt instructed from the chair, his arm curled around Eskel's hips. “It's what he likes.”

“Mmm, you're the expert.” Lambert settled back between Jaskier's legs and slid his fingers down his crack, stopping when they sank in. Jaskier's greedy asshole all but sucked him inside and Lambert spent a moment seeing what lovely noises he could wring from him before adding a third finger.

A thrill of excitement shot down his spine. This was going to be... new. In a way. Yes, Lambert had fucked Eskel, Lambert had fucked Geralt, he'd fucked countless whores up and down the Continent, but no human male had looked at Lambert's cock in anything but horror. Eskel and Geralt knew what they were getting into, they lived with the _substantial_ weight in their breeches every day, the few male prostitutes Lambert tried though... It never really worked out. Most didn't even attempt, and Lambert would never try to cajole—no Witcher would—so he waited until winter to satisfy the need for a tight ass wrapped around him, repaying the others in kind, when they asked.

And then here was Jaskier, biting his lip, staring down at Lambert's cock with hunger in his eyes. He was taking it from Geralt already, he had to know what he was in for...

A hand settled on Lambert's shoulder and Jaskier tugged, dragging golden eyes up to lock with blue. “If you don't stick your cock in me right now, I'll find someone else. I like my chances, considering there is a line.”

Lambert chuckled. “Alright, whatever you say.” He slicked his cock and guided the head to Jaskier's hole, feeling the little pucker opening for him.

“Lambert,” Jaskier whispered. “Don't worry, I know what I'm getting into.” The legs wrapped around Lambert's sides squeezed gently. “You won't break me.”

He nodded, “Good. Good.” And started pushing for real.

Sliding into Jaskier was like wrapping silk around his cock. Arms around his neck, legs squeezing his ribs, everything about Jaskier pulled Lambert in, and never wanted to let him go. He got about half way in before pulling out, just so he could feel that first slide again. “Oh, fuck,” Lambert groaned. His head dropped to Jaskier's neck and he pushed in again, inhaling the curls of desire seeding off of him like a dandelion in the wind.

Jaskier tangled his fingers in short, dark hair and moaned at the teeth scraping his neck. “Oh, yes. Give it to me.” A high, breathy moan escaped Jaskier's lips, getting higher and louder with every inch of Lambert's cock inside of him, until Lambert bottomed out and Jaskier was panting, too full and satisfied to form actual words.

After a moment to get used to the stretch, Lambert slid his hips back and thrust forward, Jaskier's hot, tight little body grasping around him. Fingers clawed at his back, legs squeezed, and Jaskier yammered, “Never stop, fuck, never ever stop fucking me.” All of it creating a heady mix Lambert got lost in. He closed his eyes and blocked out everything that wasn't Jaskier—his smell, his touch, his voice—hips snapping faster.

A new scent entered the air, sharp and bright like the rest of the bard, but pungent and musky too. Lambert barely had enough thought left to shove a hand between their bodies, grabbing Jaskier's cock and jerking him as his own thrusts sped up. He was so close... they were so close...

“ _Lambert_.”

With the whisper of his name, it was all over. The wave hit him hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs, or maybe that was Jaskier, still squeezing him like life. Lambert's hips stuttered, filling Jaskier with his spend. And somehow, the bard got louder still, moaning and twisting, his own orgasm painting his stomach and Lambert's hand.

The wave crested and they both went slack, Lambert nuzzling his face into Jaskier's neck. He twitched, sensitive under even the soft touches, but Lambert couldn't stop. He still wanted to devour Jaskier, lick the sweat from his skin and never let him go...

He rolled off anyway, the promise of a winter filled with such wonderful fucking the only thing keeping him from going insane the second his hands left Jaskier's skin. “Fuck,” Lambert sighed.

“I agree.” Jaskier rolled towards him and pressed a kiss to Lambert's lips, surprisingly sweet and chaste, especially compared to the sweaty, filthy fuck they just had.

Jaskier turned away, but didn't go far. He moved back until Lambert's chest hit his back. When Lambert didn't immediately rest a hand on his hip, Jaskier did it for him, placing the large, scarred hand where he wanted it, then shifting his attention to the rest of his line.

While they were busy, Geralt and Eskel hadn't been idle. Still sitting in the chair, Geralt had his breeches open, fat cock in one hand, lightly teasing himself. Eskel removed his shirt and opened his breeches, leaning into Geralt without a hand to himself. That beautiful beast of a cock still leaked in anticipation, drops of precome beading at the tip.

While lust curled in Jaskier's belly, his cock remained stubbornly still. “Ugh, I think we've finally hit the point where Witcher stamina wins out against twenty-year-old enthusiasm. I need a bit...”

“Don't worry.” Geralt pushed Eskel from his lap and stood up, kneeling on the side of the bed. The lazy hand on his cock started to pick up the pace, beginning the real job instead of just stoking arousal. “We can do that later. For now...” Geralt trailed off, hand moving faster until it was a blur.

Pressed against Lambert as he was, the youngest Witcher felt Jaskier's heart beat faster. He puffed his chest out, licking his lips. Geralt growled at the fucked out man in front of him, currently wrapped in the arms of his brother, and oh, it made him feel dirty and satisfied all at the same time. He squeezed just a little bit harder and came, come fountaining from the tip of his cock. One stripe landed on the bed, but the rest hit their target, painting Jaskier's chest and neck. Jaskier threw his head back and moaned at the hot spend all over him. He opened his eyes and peered up through long lashes, making Geralt stagger back.

“Fuck.” Geralt tucked himself away and nodded to Eskel. “Your turn.”

Never one to be outdone, Eskel stepped up to the side of the bed, hand already on his cock. Jaskier looked up at him, eyes wide and dark, lips parted. His gaze flicked to Eskel's cock before meeting his eyes. “You look a lot like Geralt. In so many ways.”

“Sweet fuck.” He'd barely started, but Eskel was already on edge. Geralt's arm around him, the smell of sex and seed thick in the air, add in fucking Jaskier covered in come—Lambert's leaking out of him—and Eskel was surprised he lasted this long.

A few more strokes and Eskel added to the mess on Jaskier, getting one streak across his lips. A greedy tongue licked it away and Eskel moaned, a sound from deep in his gut. His legs suddenly didn't want to work and he fell onto the bed, panting softly.

Jaskier, for his part, seemed mostly recovered. Come and sweat coating his chest, he arched, showing himself off to the three pairs of eyes drinking him in. “With all three of you after me, I might need a longer count.”

~

It took a few weeks before an opportunity for a full game came up—all three of them pursuing Jaskier around the castle, following his scent—and they made do with small chases. While Geralt and Lambert cleaned harpies out of the high cliffs, Eskel followed Jaskier around the courtyard and over the walls, always staying just a few feet back, extending the thrill of almost getting caught. When Jaskier started to tire, Eskel caught up and threw him into a snow drift, their hot skin melting the snow and soaking them quickly. Eskel carried Jaskier up to his room and stripped them both, their clothes drying by the fire while he claimed his winnings.

Lambert liked Jaskier to hide in the bedrooms. He'd chase him through the halls until a door slammed, sending him to search each of their rooms. He took Jaskier in whatever bed he found him in, mostly Geralt's, but sometimes Eskel's or Lambert's own bed, once, Jaskier made a wrong turn into Vesemir's room...

Then, the day finally came when Vesemir grunted “Going hunting, be back at sundown,” and just... left.

The Witchers froze, watching their mentor walk out of the dining hall, down the corridor, and out the front doors. Six golden eyes slid to Jaskier, his spoon full of porridge hovering dumbly in front of his face. A hot flush shot down his neck.

Geralt's lip pulled back in a feral snarl. “I'll count to one hundred.”

Jaskier dropped the spoon and was out of the dining hall before it hit the table. “Fuck,” Lambert groaned. “How is he so fast?”

“Not as fast as us,” Eskel said. They all stood from their seats, rolling their shoulders and stretching their legs, preparing for the hunt.

The count in Geralt's mind ticked passed fifty, and already he was straining to keep himself in check. The others felt it as well, the coiled energy under their skin, waiting to spring, to seek out their prey and be the first one to claim him. Lambert bounced on the balls of his feet and Eskel stretched, watching Geralt out of the corner of his eye. “What happens if all three of us catch him?”

Geralt shrugged. “Then we all get to fuck him.” For the final few seconds, he started counting out loud. “Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred.”

Three predators shot out like a bolt from a bow, spreading out, each taking a different path. They all smelled Jaskier on the air, he used his time well, spreading his scent thickly through the halls, making the hunt a challenge for them. It might earn him a little leniency when they caught him... but probably not.

~

Jaskier skidded around a corner and took a moment to catch his breath. They never _let_ him outrun them, not really, it was part of the game—let Jaskier get just far enough ahead to give him a sliver of hope. And with the twisted halls of Kaer Morhen, Jaskier had to play smart, spending most of his time running in circles, spreading his smell as far as possible. Starting at the third floor, he ran down every staircase, the musky sweat traveling down through the air. With any luck, the whole first floor would be saturated with him, forcing them to hunt as a pack. Three Witchers individually were a nightmare to outrun, stick them together and Jaskier's odds got a little better.

He regained his breath and took off down the hall again. There was a staircase with a low railing, easy for him to jump and get back to the dining hall, confusing them even more. But when he rounded the corner, he saw a flash of Lambert, hopping that same low railing.

Golden eyes locked on him and a wolfish smirk spread across the young Witcher's face. “South hall!” he shouted, his voice carrying down the stairs. Two sets of heavy boots echoed off the walls and Jaskier turned, slipping into a disused room. There was old furniture piled at the corner, covering a gap in the wall just big enough for Jaskier to squeeze through and escape into another spare bedroom.

He was on the run again, heart pounding, legs burning. While Eskel usually gave him time to rest before continuing chase, there would be no quarter given here. Jaskier sprinted out of the room and down the north hall, on the other side of the castle from where they were searching for him.

But he knew he couldn't outrun them long, not in their own home. Jaskier made a wrong turn and found Geralt at the end of the second floor hall, eyes manic, arms open, prepared to catch and subdue Jaskier. He tried to go back the other way, but Eskel and Lambert were waiting. All three pushed in, trapping him in the center of the long hall. In one last desperate bid to escape, Jaskier ran towards Lambert and Eskel, hitting the floor and sliding between them. Maybe they'd both try to grab him and knock into each other, giving him a chance to—

A firm hand grabbed the back of his shirt, hauling him up from the floor and smacking him against the wall. White hair wild, those eyes were soft, fingers reverent as they pinned Jaskier's chest to the wall. Lambert and Eskel lingered behind Geralt, one over each shoulder. Lambert actually fucking licked his lips.

“Got you,” Geralt whispered.

Fog rolled through Jaskier's brain as bliss and exhaustion took over. He felt hands against his skin—too many to count—and Geralt carried him to their room, setting him on the soft rug in front of the hearth. Once again, too many hands stripped him, touching tenderly, rubbing heated skin and tired muscles. A water skin appeared at his lips and Jaskier drank, the cold water chasing away some of the lethargic fog.

When he opened his eyes again, Geralt hovered over him, white hair down and flowing, brushing Jaskier's shoulders just enough to tickle. An over large hand cupped the side of his face and Jaskier leaned into the touch. “Are you good? Or do we have to collect our winnings later?”

Jaskier stretched, testing his muscles. The burn in his thighs was a little too intense to call pleasant, but he'd manage. “Maybe nothing too athletic? We can save that for tomorrow.”

“Hmm, that's unfortunate. You got us all worked up.” Geralt's hand traveled down Jaskier's side, over his ribs and trim belly, stopping right above his cock. Jaskier so wanted that hand to wrap around him, jerk him until he was truly wrung out. “We need to work off that tension...”

The words held an implied command, but Geralt's eyes held a question. _Do you want to play this game too_?

In his heart, Jaskier was a push over, and couldn't deny his Witchers anything. Despite the ache in his lungs and the lead-like exhaustion in his legs, he nodded. “Take me however you want, I am your prize.”

Lambert and Eskel, lingering just out of sight, appeared and swept Jaskier into their arms. Geralt lay down on the fur in front of the fire and they placed Jaskier on top of him. Eskel disappeared but Lambert knelt beside him, one hand on Jaskier's chest as Geralt started playing with his cock. Jaskier was knackered, but not so much that he didn't respond to Geralt's firm strokes and teasing touches. A thumb passed over the seam of his balls and Jaskier was groaning with each stroke, rolling his hips.

“You three... are far too coordinated,” Jaskier said. Lambert swiped a hand over his face and Jaskier kissed his palm, sucking a finger into his mouth. “Makes me think you've done it before...”

“Not like this.” Eskel's voice in his ear sent a shiver down Jaskier's spine. Only then did he feel the slick fingers working him open.

A previously unknown side effect of their game presented itself at that moment: Jaskier's body was too tired to clench around the intrusion and Eskel's fingers slid in like he was the loosest slut down at the docks. Maybe he was, but Jaskier hadn't heard any complaints.

“Fuck,” Eskel hissed. “Must've run hard, he's so open.”

“Good.” Geralt settled his hand on Jaskier's hip, thumb curling around to brush the sensitive inside of his thigh.

Three of Eskel's thick fingers thrust inside Jaskier, making him moan and grunt, but every time he tried to lean forward and settle on Geralt's chest, Lambert caught him by the shoulders and sat him back up. “Like this, little lark,” Lambert growled, kissing him, nipping at his soft lips. “Gotta be good for them.”

Jaskier nodded. He wanted to be good, wanted to give his wolves what they asked for, they did win the game after all... But with Lambert's lips on his, Geralt stroking his cock, and Eskel's fingers in his ass, Jaskier felt like he was getting the better end of this bargain.

Geralt's kept his strokes slow, almost tantalizing, like he didn't want to make Jaskier come yet, which was never a good sign. Eskel was gentle too, pushing deep but staying clear of Jaskier's prostate. And Lambert's kisses were... unusual. The fiery young wolf took great pleasure in biting Jaskier, marking him up, kissing until his lips were red and swollen. But at the moment, he was all tongue, licking inside Jaskier's mouth, tasting him. Jaskier had just enough mental wherewithal to suspect something.

Then the head of Geralt's cock started pushing in and Jaskier no longer cared what the Witchers were cooking up. Geralt stopped stroking Jaskier, but left a hand at the base of his cock. He rolled his hips slowly, pushing Jaskier into the ring of his hand. Yes, that was fine, this would work. Lambert climbed to his feet, but stayed next to Jaskier, his cock now hanging right in front of his mouth.

Was this their plan? Take turns on his mouth while Geralt fucked him? Well, that sounded bloody _brilliant_. Jaskier couldn't wait to get started. He followed Lambert with his eyes and opened his mouth, the invitation so obvious, a blind man could see it. Lambert chuckled and traced his thumb across Jaskier's lovely cheekbone. “You want it?” he whispered.

“Yes.” With Geralt's lazy thrusts, Jaskier had more than enough attention to spare. He opened his mouth wide and Lambert's heavy cock slid along his tongue, the head notching into the roof of his mouth like it was fucking made to fit there.

With Lambert in his mouth and Geralt in his ass, Jaskier spared a thought for Eskel. As soon as he was done with Lambert, he'd invite the dark wolf to sample his mouth. Then maybe, after dinner, he'd have his strength back and climb into Eskel's lap for dessert. Yes, that sounded like the perfect ending to the perfect day. Jaskier closed his eyes and settled in for a nice, slow, luxurious fuck.

So when the second cock head pushed at his rim, it came as quite a shock. He yelped, Lambert's cock slipping from his mouth, and all three tensed. “Are you alright?” Geralt asked.

“It doesn't hurt—” the head was still pressing, stretching him, but hadn't gone in. _Yet_. “You surprised me.”

“A good surprise?” Eskel asked.

Jaskier considered the facts around him: Geralt's cock already inside of him, Lambert's soon to be in his mouth again, and Eskel... Well, now that he knew their plan, felt his body opening to the second—fucking _second_ —cock, Jaskier had to have it. It was a flaw of his, Jaskier had to try the impossible, just to see if he was successful: show him a difficult piece of music that only a “master” could play, and he'd learn it in a day, just to spite his disbelieving professors; tell him he had a chance to hold Geralt, Eskel and Lambert inside him all at the same time, and Jaskier would move heaven and earth to make it so. He wanted that cock, wanted it more than anything else in the world.

“Yes,” he purred. “Yes, put it in me.”

The fat head started pushing again and Lambert's calloused fingers brushed against Jaskier's jaw, turning his head. Jaskier's mouth fell open and Lambert slid in, a welcome distraction from the intense stretch at his back end. It didn't hurt, but it was so all consuming, his legs started shaking, breath coming faster. The pressure inside him grew and grew, taking more of his attention with every inch of Eskel's cock that slid in next to Geralt's.

Eskel gave one last push and let out a ragged sigh. “That's all of it.”

“Fuck,” Geralt grunted. He gave an experimental roll of his hips and he and Eskel groaned, Jaskier's noises lost in his throat, corked down by Lambert's cock.

Jaskier's mind started to spool away, the room around him became less and less defined. The only things he saw clearly, what he knew for a fact, were Lambert's cock heavy and hot in his mouth, and the two others stuffing him so full—fuller than he ever imagined. The pressure inside him was just so _much_ , Jaskier didn't know what to think, how to think about anything other than Geralt's soft thrusts, Lambert's hand on the back of his neck, and Eskel's forehead pressed between his shoulder blades.

Euphoria filled up Jaskier's brain and he let his three Witchers do as they please, touch him how they wanted. The hand on his cock fell into the same rhythm as the ones in his ass and Jaskier moaned around Lambert. It was too much and not enough all at once.

Lambert slipped from his mouth, snapping Jaskier back to attention. Lambert continued stroking himself, Jaskier's spit making him slick. Jaskier pouted at the sight, that was _his_ job. But Lambert shook his head, threading the fingers of his free hand into Jaskier's hair. “Let me?” he whispered.

Jaskier tipped his head back and opened his mouth just in time for Lambert to groan, hips twitching, come spurting, covering Jaskier's beautiful face. One long stripe landed across his tongue and Jaskier greedily swallowed, the rest hot on his skin. His own hips twitched, cock pulsing in Geralt's hand. He was so fucking close...

“Fucking shit, Lambert,” Geralt growled. Lambert's come dripped off Jaskier's chin, landing on Geralt's chest.

It was all over. Stroking faster, Geralt came, sparing a small thought to bringing Jaskier over with him. Heat and pleasure coiled through his pelvis and his cock twitched inside the bard, flooding him with come. Eskel groaned and fell off his own cliff. The spend across Jaskier's cheeks and lips, Geralt's fucked out face, hot come slicking the too tight channel they both shared—it was too much. He bit Jaskier's shoulder and shouted his pleasure into the bard's skin, hips snapping one last time.

~

Jaskier didn't know how he got there, but he was on the bed now, a cool cloth swiping over his skin. It felt nice. The fingers probing his ass were less nice. He hissed and moved away. “Tender, tender.”

“Had to check, make sure you weren't hurt,” Geralt grumbled. “Fuck Jaskier, that was...”

“Yes, it was.” There was a warm body in front of him and Jaskier looked up to find Eskel staring over at him. “I'm fine,” he said. He managed to lift a hand and stroke Eskel's cheek before his arm fell down onto the bed, body completely exhausted. “That was fucking amazing.”

“Shit yes it was,” Lambert said. He was propped at the head of the bed and Jaskier only now realized he was sleeping in Lambert's lap, fingers playing with his hair. “I was just watching it and I can't feel my legs. To be in the middle of it...”

“A position I wouldn't mind revisiting.” Jaskier's sore ass made itself heard and he winced. “Not anytime soon, though. Don't even think I could run in this condition.”

Satisfied they hadn't broken Jaskier, Geralt climbed into the bed behind him. Eskel shoved over and Lambert slid down a little farther so his brothers could rest their heads on his thighs. He had the easy job after all, he was the only one not about to pass out.

Jaskier settled into his pile of Witcher and closed his eyes again. His legs still ached, his ass was a whole different kind of ache, and it felt like he might never move again. “Want to chase me again in a few days?”

“Yes,” three voices replied.

The End

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Robber Prince](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25942201) by [GoblinRuler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoblinRuler/pseuds/GoblinRuler)




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